Twisted Fairytale
by authoressnebula
Summary: Coda to 3x05, Bedtime Stories: Sam returns to the motel as if nothing's happened, but it never works out that way.


The lights were still off when Sam returned to the motel. Good; Dean wasn't up yet. It was still about four or so in the morning, and Dean probably wouldn't start stirring until maybe 8. For all his grumpiness about getting up early, it was usually Dean who was up before Sam. Only nightmares had Sam rising before his brother.

That and missions too dark to be accomplished in daylight.

He parked the car a few spaces down from their room – Dean's baby wasn't exactly quiet – then grabbed his bag and headed for their door. It was opened silently, and Sam would've smiled if he could've. He'd killed someone tonight; some innocent girl who'd simply been in the demon's way.

He stepped around the half-wall between the beds and the door, then froze as the lights came on. His head whipped around to Dean's empty bed, then slowly trailed back to his brother who was sitting at the small table in the room. Dean looked _pissed_. "Where the hell have you been?" he asked tightly.

Shit.

"Just out for a walk," Sam said, and he winced even as he said it. It sounded lame even to his ears, and from the way Dean's eyebrows traveled up to his hairline, it really _was_ that lame.

"A walk. Right. That's why you took the Impala."

Shit shit _shit_.

"Where were you, Sam?" There was no mistaking the edge in his brother's voice. He knew that what was fueling Dean's anger was panic and fear; the last time Sam had gone somewhere without telling Dean, it hadn't been his choice, and he'd wound up dead.

Unfortunately, Dean's anger was overlapping the caring part.

He sighed and dropped his bag onto the floor. "I went to the hospital," he said, which wasn't a lie. He _had_ gone to the hospital, after he'd made the anonymous call tipping off about a gunshot heard out at the crossroads. He'd wanted to make sure that the girl had at least been found and not just left out there. As soon as they'd started talking about identifications, though, Sam had left.

Dean's anger was halted, but not diminished, at the statement. "What the hell for? Job's over, Sam."

"I wanted to make sure," Sam said. "I mean, Callie's officially dead now. She could still be a spirit. I ran over the room with the EMF, though, and there's nothing. She's gone for good."

Dean was still glaring at him, but at least he'd unfolded his arms. "And you'd have thought of this because...?"

Sam bit his lip. "I, um, saw the frog outside...?"

Dean rolled his eyes, and the glare was one of exasperation now. Sam silently breathed a sigh of relief. "Dude, it's probably just a frog. I mean, there weren't fairies floating around, and Cinderella wasn't dressed in rags. She was freakin' _handcuffed_, Sam. Everything was altered from the original tales because Callie was making do with a 21st century world for her playground. I don't know how the hell she could turn someone into a frog from that."

Sam gave a sheepish shrug. "Yeah, I guess. I just didn't want to leave some poor guy like that, you know?"

_No, you'd rather just shoot an innocent girl out in the middle of nowhere_.

Sam gritted his teeth at the thought. He wasn't going there. Not now. Not when Dean was here, when Dean was the one who could read him like a book.

"But seriously, you _leave a note_, Sam," Dean said, stepping forward and almost into Sam. "Don't just wander off. Not without telling me." Up close, Dean's anger was visible, but the worry underneath it was, too.

"I'm sorry," Sam said sincerely. He'd really been hoping Dean wouldn't wake up.

Trust his over-protective big brother to do just that.

They stared at each other for a moment, before Dean sighed and stepped back, rubbing his head. "It's too early for this," he muttered, before shaking his head. "I'm gonna hit the shower."

"You know, we aren't the first ones who've dealt with fairy tales coming true, you know," Sam couldn't help but add. That had been an odd thing he'd come across in his research.

Dean glanced back and raised his eyebrow, indicating that Sam should keep going. "There was an incident with two monks in Bangkok who had a spirit-"

"Bangkok," Dean said, smirking.

Sam gave his brother a look. "...Who had a spirit that was bringing about Thailand's folktales. So the two monks went around Bangkok and found-"

Dean snickered. Sam narrowed his gaze. "You can't _seriously_ find it that funny," he said. Dean's grin was the only answer Sam was getting. "Try and act your age, will you? And not two?"

"A two year old wouldn't know why it was so funny," Dean said, still grinning. Grinning was better than glaring, though. That was good. The less Dean questioned and thought about where Sam had been, the better. "Finish."

Sam rolled his eyes. "They found that another monk who was transcribing the tales had inadvertently been thinking about them through his meditations, and had sort of passed them on to the spirit. Easy problem solved."

"So we're not the world's first fairy tale busters," Dean said, nodding as he turned into the bathroom. "Always a relief to hear."

Sam smiled as he shut the door, but let his lips fall once his brother was closed away in the bathroom. Then he sighed and hung his head, closing his eyes tightly. He didn't even really know why he'd shot her. He could make a dozen excuses: he'd been afraid for Dean, had wanted to save others from being ensnared in a deal, but in the end, he'd killed an innocent.

He'd also killed a big-wig demon. Maybe Sam didn't know who her boss was, but he was betting that that boss wasn't going to be happy about Sam offing his best saleswoman. Which meant he'd have to surface and come find Sam himself.

And when he did...well, Sam had bullets left to spare.

It had been a quick idea, no more than a second to figure it out, before he'd raised the gun and pulled the trigger. He hadn't wanted to second guess himself; just pull it and be done. Even while a piece of him inside had screamed at the death of the young girl whose name he'd never know.

Ruby had warned him that there'd be collateral damage on the road to saving Dean. He'd said he'd known that already, and he had. He just hadn't felt it at that time. Now, with a girl dead, and more bodies probably to fall, he was definitely feeling it. Guilt at what he'd done. Grief over the innocent lives. Fear of what he'd turn into.

But the dreadful hope that maybe, just maybe, he had the stones to see this through, and _would_ see it through.

Dean had sold his soul for Sam; it was only fitting that Sam sell his to get it back. It was a screwed up idea, a demented fairy tale, but they'd gotten through a few of those in the space of the last two days. They could get through this one.

And Sam wasn't letting this story end without the happily ever after he wanted for his brother.


End file.
